


Lil' Bits

by trash_freak



Series: RickMorty Trash Pile [9]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Blow Jobs, Child Abuse, Fluff, I ADDED A CHAPTER I'M SORRY, Incest, M/M, Manipulation, Public Sex, dubcon, fear of public toilets, like not really but also kind of definitely, mentions of king jellybean, this was almost gen but alas i cannot change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7736380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_freak/pseuds/trash_freak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick takes Morty to Lil' Bits.</p><p>-</p><p>edit: i added a chapter and now this is sin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> rated gen????  
> notes at the beginning?????  
> fear not, i'm still the same ol' trash babe
> 
> i'm not sure this really belongs in this series  
> but in my mind it's in the same universe  
> and it's nice to give them a little quiet snippet
> 
> i drew a little comic thing!  
> which i think is cute and can be found on the tumblr  
> trash-freak.tumblr.com/post/148764554069/read
> 
> edit: haha what a fool i was to think i could avoid the trash.

Morty is starving. The ache in his stomach has transcended pain and has now become a dull acceptance of death. He can’t really remember the last time he’s properly eaten, or really the last time he’s properly been home.

Morty looks down mournfully at the plate he’s just been presented with. The plate itself is of average size, which only serves to make the tiny burger and handful of tiny fries look even smaller sat atop the vast expanse of white ceramic.

“Aw geez, Rick,” Morty says, picking the burger up between his forefinger and thumb. It’s barely bigger than a bean. “Not- n-not to sound ungrateful, but I was sorta hoping for something more substantial.”

The restaurant itself is pretty nice, bustling full of happy, if odd-looking, customers. The food smells amazing, which just makes Morty’s stomach twist in despair.

Rick had sounded excited to come here, but Morty isn’t sure whether that’s because he genuinely thinks it’s a nice place or because he wanted to watch the disappointment unfold on Morty’s face.

Still, Morty feels the need to explain further when Rick just leans back in a comfortable sprawl against his seat and watches Morty with interest. More interest than could be described as appropriate.

“I mean,” Morty continues quickly, fidgeting under Rick’s heated consideration, glancing from his miniscule burger to Rick’s raised eyebrow and back. “I-I- we’ve been running around- been doing all this running and doing all this stuff and I’m kinda hungry now, Rick…”

“Yeah,” Rick says. “And I got you a burger.”

He’s almost definitely screwing with Morty. But the amusement in his eyes looks soft, not malicious, and it’s making Morty feel unsure.

“Yeah, yes, you did, Rick, but-“ Morty starts, not quite meeting Rick’s intense gaze.

He’s cut off as Rick leans forward abruptly, all amusement snuffed out.

“You know, Morty, this is a pretty popular establishment,” Rick says, firm and annoyed, finger jabbing sharply at the table top he’s leaning on. “You see any empty chairs here? _No._ ‘Cause it’s _booked_ , it’s beurgh-ooked up, Morty, it’s _full._ ” He points in Morty’s direction, snappish and stern, and Morty frowns. “Because people _like_ it here, Mo _urgh_ ty, a-and I went and I put the _effort_ in to get us in here, _Morty_ -“

“Alright, alright, _geez,_ ” Morty snaps. He looks down again at the burger held lightly between his fingers. It would be comically small if Morty didn’t feel like he was about to pass out and die.

Better than nothing, he supposes as he pops the mini burger in his mouth. It’s literally gone in a bite.

But as it slides down his throat and hits his stomach, he starts feeling pretty full, and now he kinda feels like a bit of a dick because Rick apparently _wasn’t_ screwing with him.

It’s weird going from being so hungry to being mostly full so quickly, but the disappearance of the sickening pain in his gut has him grinning widely at Rick.

“Hey, th-they really manage to pack a lot in there, huh, Rick,” Morty says, happily surprised, to his kind of startled looking grandpa sat across from him. Rick’s shocked expression is starting to make Morty a little nervous. “I’m, heh, I-I’m actually full.”

And then Rick’s eyes crinkle, his mouth curving slowly upwards. He tries to hide his small chuckle behind his hand, but his words shake with laughter when he says, “Well- heh- maybe one day you’ll- you’ll quit doubting youurrgh grandpa Rick a-and start taking my word, huh, Morty?”

His shoulders are shaking with barely restrained mirth, and he won’t look directly at Morty, and Morty narrows his eyes, highly suspicious.

“What’s so funny, Rick?” Morty demands, but then it hits him, the bloated feeling of eating too much far too quickly. “Oh…” he murmurs, voice faint, hands falling from the table top to clutch at his swollen belly.

Rick’s snorting behind his hand like the utter bastard that he is.

“Hooohhh, Rick,” Morty says in a warbling moan, “I don’t- I don’t feel too good…” He groans pitifully, his stomach turning, his mouth watering as he tries to pant through the nausea. “I’m so full,” Morty huffs, and Rick loses it.

Morty glares as best he can as Rick leans back, crinkled eyes squeezed shut, and laughs loud, one hand pressed against his belly as the other slaps hard against the table with glee.

Rick cackles, harsh enough to set him spluttering over a hacking cough, and finally manages to guffaw, “Your face!”

Morty slouches down in the booth, tries to hide his face without lifting his hands from his aching stomach.

It takes a minute for Rick to calm down, but eventually he wipes the tears from his eyes and levels a fond gaze on the slouched-over teen.

“You’re not supposed to eat it all at once like that,” Rick chortles, eyes all squinty and affectionate.

Morty would like to be able to fully appreciate the twinkle in Rick’s eyes, the crinkle of Rick’s soft smile, but he’s definitely gonna hurl.

“I’m definitely gonna hurl,” Morty mutters as he lurches to his feet and scurries to the toilets, Rick’s laughter turning mocking behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick follows Morty to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to keep it PG guys I TRIED but??  
> morty went to the bathroom and i thought  
> 'what a perfect chance to incorporate my skeevy headcanon that morty's scared of public toilets'  
> and then this went and happened oops.

He doesn’t want to be in the bathroom. That’s all Morty can think, leaning over the toilet and retching. His stomach’s empty again, though there’s only the tiniest trace of what was once burger in the toilet water. Now he’s just choking on hot bile.

He’s shaking, violent shudders wracking his slight frame, and it’s from the effort of throwing up, and it’s from the exhaustion and the hunger, but mostly it’s the way the thin cubicle walls seem to be pressing closer, trying to hold him still.

Morty can’t quite breathe anymore.

Then the latch of the locked cubicle door behind him screeches open, and Morty flings himself to his feet in a panic, little fists raised and ready, drool on his chin and dripping off onto his shirt. The door opens, and Morty’s stomach is a storm.

It’s Rick, pushing his way into the already too-small cubicle and standing too close. Morty doesn’t quite look at him, can’t stop staring at the way the door is quietly swinging shut behind Rick, trapping them in. His vision is blurring with tears and panic. He lets his fists drop to his sides, defeated already.

“You, uh, you okay, dawg?” Rick asks, voice playful like he’s trying to lighten the mood.

When Rick reaches out to touch Morty’s curls, Morty reacts on instinct, flails and pushes Rick’s arm aside, follows it up by shoving as hard as he can against Rick’s shoulder and then Rick’s back to pin him against the cubicle door.

“Damn, Morty, you got some moves up your sleeve,” Rick comments, completely unconcerned, and Morty steps abruptly back.

“Aww, hell, I’m- I’m real sorry, Rick, you- you startled me,” Morty says in a small voice, rubbing at the back of his neck, legs wobbling beneath him. He wipes his wet chin with the back of his wrist, achieving nothing more than smearing the mess a little.

Rick hadn’t even tried to fight back, hadn’t even seemed surprised, and he crosses his arms, leans back against the cubicle door and watches Morty where he’s stood with the back of his knees pressed tight against the edge of the toilet, as far away as he can, which isn’t very.

Morty looks down and away, trying to avoid Rick’s piercing look, and wraps his arms tight around himself, shaking and shifting from foot to foot nervously.

“Flush the toilet, M _uh_ -Ouuurghty, it stinks like stomach acid in here.” Rick sounds harsh, but he looks sort of worried, eyes intense, calculating.

Morty flushes the toilet.

“Please, Rick, I j-just wanna-“ Morty can’t catch his breath. It reeks like urinal cake and bleach in here, and it’s way nicer than the last public toilet he found himself in, but he _doesn’t want to be here_. “I just wanna leave, Rick, please.”

Rick says nothing, leaning back against Morty’s escape route, and he’s looking at Morty in a way that’s making the boy want to rip his hair from his skull in stress. He’s ready to gnaw his own leg off to escape.

Morty takes half a step forward, forces himself to meet Rick’s eyes. “I’ll- I- I’ll do whatever you want, Rick, just, let’s go, please, let’s get outta here.”

“You’re scared of being in here with me?” Rick asks, voice hard, and Morty’s stomach plummets. He pauses, swallows back the bile in his throat, shakes his head a little. Rick’s gonna bring it up, Morty can feel it coming.

“I’m not some fucking jellybean freak, Morty,” Rick spits, indignant, almost outraged, and Morty can’t feel his legs. He staggers back, slumps down heavily onto the toilet seat.

His breath had smelled sweet, like sugar, and his hands had been thin and solid, and his tongue had been sticky, like spit-wet candy. Morty hasn’t eaten candy since. 

He’d told Rick, later, days later, face a mess of snot and fat tears, that the jellybean had attacked him, and that Morty… Morty had almost killed him. _Wanted_ to kill him. Rick had held him close, whispered darkly that Morty _never_ had to worry about that creep again.

“D-d-d-did you kill him, Rick?” Morty finally asks now what he was too scared to ask back then. He leans forward, elbows against knees, and watches his tears drip down onto the tiled floor.

Rick doesn’t hesitate. “You’re fucking damn right I did,” he says with a venom Morty has seldom heard. Then he’s stepping closer, and Morty presses his back against the freezing cold ceramic of the toilet.

Rick doesn’t touch him, just kneels down, half an inch from Morty’s knees.

“You really wanna leave, baby, we can leave, but, but I don’t want you carrying this with you, Morty.” Rick rises up on his knees so his face is right in front of Morty’s, and Morty finds himself spreading his legs, slipping down further on the seat to feel the warmth of Rick’s body between his thighs where Rick’s _so close_. So close, but still not touching without permission.

“I want you-“ Rick falters, licks his lips, looks down at Morty’s wet mouth, and Morty’s dick is starting to stir a little at the thought that Rick still wants him even with hot bile on his breath. “I want you feeling good, baby boy, wanna blow you in every public toilet we come across, Morty, even the really fucking _gross_ ones.” Rick leans closer, nose a hair’s breadth from Morty’s, voice filthy when he says, “Wanna get my knees dirty for you.”

Morty turns his face away, ashamed of his hardening dick, trembling so violently it’s sort of hurting. But when Rick leans back, Morty’s reaching out and grabbing at Rick’s coat clumsily, pulling him in and clinging to his strong shoulders, irrational fear sparking through Morty at the thought of Rick leaving him here.

“Don’t go,” Morty sniffles, rubbing his face against Rick’s lab coat.

Rick’s hands finally come to rest tentatively at Morty’s waist, and Morty sighs in relief, tightens his grip. Rick’s touch grows bolder, hands running from Morty’s waist around to his back to rub firm and comforting circles.

Rick breathes deep and slow and Morty tries to copy the rhythm, gradually calming, shuddering breath evening out as Rick mumbles, “Whatever you want in here, Morty,” and, “You’re the boss here, baby,” and, “Just ask a-and I’ll do it, babe, my baby boy.”

Morty’s definitely hard now, arousal and anxiety mixing into a jumble of short breaths and hammering pulse, muscles shaking in want and fear; a combination that’s familiar. He lets his legs tighten around Rick’s hips, enjoys the heat and pressure through the worn denim.

“Anything? A-anything I want, Rick?” Morty whispers against Rick’s ear, feels Rick breathe out heavy against his neck, his nose rubbing along the sensitive skin as he nods, hums in agreement. Rick’s fingers target all the tight spots in Morty’s back muscles and dig in, making Morty melt into him.

Morty’s thighs clench tighter around Rick, something like a gasp falling from him as Rick shifts and moves ever so slightly against him, the two pressed tight together. Morty feels on the edge of a breakdown, held together by a thin thread and Rick’s hands.

“I want- I-I- I w-want it slow, Rick,” Morty eventually says on a shaky breath. He can’t deal with rough right now, can’t deal with fast and hard without breaking apart and losing it. He’s scared he might lash out at Rick for real in here, can feel it right there under his skin, a tension in his scrawny muscles, ready for a fight. He couldn’t bear a fight right now. “Touch me real slow a-and soft, Rick, please-“

“Okay, it’s okay,” Rick mutters, petting Morty’s curls, pressing soft barely-there kisses to Morty’s wet cheeks, rubbing up and down Morty’s arm like he’s trying to erase the trembling there. 

It’s like he isn’t even Rick, kneeling there without complaint, touching Morty like Morty’s about to break, like he _doesn’t want_ Morty to break. Like he _cares_.

Morty kisses him, a brush of lips against wet lips, the slightest touch of tongue against wet tongue, and something surges up inside Morty, something needy and insecure, and he grips too tight at Rick’s hair, licks soft but insistent into Rick’s mouth. Breathes hard through his nose, smelling Rick more than anything else now, tasting stale alcohol and spit, feeling a squirming, vicious _want_ throb through him.

Morty’s limbs are heavy like he’s trying to swim through syrup.

Morty’s heart is beating like he’s trying to tame a lion.

Rick’s hands ease up under Morty’s shirt, dip down into the back of Morty’s jeans, and Morty surprises himself when he bites Rick’s lip. Even more surprised by the way Rick groans and presses closer.

“Y-y-y-you don’t- you don’t need to go putting your hands there right n-now, Rick,” Morty stutters out, heart punching the inside of his ribs, but when he struggles through the panic, brings himself to look at Rick’s face, Rick’s pupils are huge like he’s high, Rick’s mouth slack and wet.

“I’m,” Rick starts, stops to catch his breath. “I-I’m sorry, Morty, baby, can I- can I kiss you again, sweet boy?”

The rush of power Rick’s just sent flooding through Morty makes his brain short-circuit, makes his dick _throb_.

“No,” Morty says, heart in his mouth, and Rick _growls_ , touches his nose to Morty’s, but he obeys, lips a millimetre from Morty’s own gasping mouth. “Undo my jeans,” Morty says, gathering a little momentum, petting through Rick’s hair the way Rick always does with him.

“Yes, boss,” Rick says, voice deep and thick, his hands moving up under Morty’s shirt again to tease at Morty’s belly before sliding the button free, so slow, anticipation dragging a shaky moan from Morty as the zipper is finally, _finally_ eased open.

“Tell- _ohh_ \- tell me you- y-you’re gonna suck my- suck my cock, Rick, tell me-“

“Gonna make you feel so good, Morty, baby,” Rick cuts in, pulling Morty free from his jeans and stroking slow and loose up Morty’s length, and it’s _perfect_. “Gonna eat you up sooo slow, babe. Wanna feel my throat around your dick, Morty? Wanna feel me swallow your come?”

“Don’t- we don’t wanna make of mess of this n-nice bathroom, do we, Rick?” Morty says, and Rick chuckles dark and dirty, sinks lower, bows over Morty’s cock to breathe hot against the head. Morty’s hips twitch up, and Rick doesn’t hold him still, lets him bump the tip of his dick against his mouth, and Morty’s head spins.

“Suck me, Rick,” Morty gasps, and Rick does, leaves his mouth relaxed and loose and wet as he envelops Morty’s dick without hesitation. “Ohhhh fu-uuuuck.” Morty grips at Rick’s hair, grabs at the off-white of his coat, pushes at the back of his neck, greedy, and Rick just _lets him_. 

Everything is soft wet hot glide, feather light fingers against Morty’s hips, Rick’s tongue teasing gentle shivers of pleasure through Morty’s slumped body. Morty’s brain is cotton wool, his fingers running restless through Rick’s hair.

Morty’s hips raise up without thought when Rick pushes down and swallows around Morty’s dick, his whole body shuddering as Rick pulls up slow, sucking lightly. His zip is biting into the top of his thighs, and his back is aching so bad from the way he’s slouched on the hard ceramic, his thighs shaking, his calves burning, and he feels so warm and heavy, breathing in stale piss and toilet cleaner and moaning out Rick’s name.

It’s like slipping into a warm bath; that’s how he feels when he comes. It washes over him, floods through him, a gentle shudder that builds and builds and leaves him shaking and breathless and completely boneless, head tipped back against the top of the toilet’s water tank.

Rick’s forehead is pressed to his hipbone when he manages to focus again, and Rick’s taking deep breathes through his nose, inhaling Morty’s musky, sweaty scent. He’s grasping at Morty’s calf, fingers convulsing, as his other hand works at his own cock, and it’s moments before Rick’s coming with a long groan, mouthing at Morty’s hip and making a mess of the mint green tiling.

Rick stays leaning against Morty for a moment, lets Morty pet his hair, then slumps back on his ass and tells Morty to pass over some toilet paper. He cleans himself off without shame and with minimal grumbling, leaves the used tissues lying on the floor, and Morty thinks he’s just going to leave, but before struggling to his feet Rick rises up again on his knees and kisses Morty, slow and deep, tongue coated in Morty’s come.

"You're so good," Rick murmurs into Morty's slack mouth, and Morty pulls at his lapels to keep him there just a moment longer. "So brave, Morty, my boy, my brave boy."

Morty feels like warm putty, moulded to Rick, hands too limp to keep Rick from pulling back.

When they finally get home Rick forces Morty to drink water and eat something small, and takes him to bed, kisses his forehead, and Morty is filled with the sick feeling that sometimes Rick is probably just as much his parent as he is anything else.

-

Morty thinks it’s all a one-off when Rick is back to his old self the next day, but two weeks later they’re in an alien bar, and Rick leans in close, uses the loud music as an excuse to talk right into Morty’s ear.

“You need the bathroom, Morty?”


End file.
